


I Want To Be A Hero

by TARDISinthebedroom



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cyborgs, Dark Elves, F/M, How Do I Tag, King Loki, Magic-Users, Mutant Powers, Orphans, Post-Thor: The Dark World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDISinthebedroom/pseuds/TARDISinthebedroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter Laeman is a teenage, mostly human mutant orphan with magical abilities. She lives in Brooklyn and is part of a team of teenage superheroes. One nightly patrol, she is led to an alley by a tugging in her gut. Enter Loki, King of Asgard. Can she keep Loki alive long enough for him to reach New York City and the Avengers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first part of my multi-part telling of the story of Winter Laeman, a mostly human mutant orphan with magical abilities! Enjoy :D

   Loki had never tried to transport himself to Earth under his own power before. But with the Rainbow Bridge destroyed (again) by one of the first Dark Elf invasions two weeks before, he had no choice if he wanted to get to New York and ask the Avengers for help re-claiming Asgard.

   He stood on a balcony facing the south, towards Midgard. The midsummer stars were hazy, the black smoke rising from the palace and the surrounding towns blocking the view. Heimdal stood to his left, giving him a few final instructions.

   "... And once you convince the Avengers to come to our aid, I will channel as much of my power as I can spare through Mjolnir. This will allow Thor to open a gateway back to Asgard."

   Loki nodded absentmindedly, most of his focus on gathering his magic from himself and the reserve in his dagger. He gazed at Asgard one more time, holding on to hope that it would still be here when he returned.As he opened his mouth and mind to release the spell, he remembered something.

   Turning around and summoning his most commanding tone, Loki commanded Heimdal, "Keep my people safe, Heimdal."

   Heimdal bowed. "It is my only purpose in life, my king."

   Loki nodded, faced the stars, and released the spell. Everything vanished in a swirl of green and gold light...

   - Midgard/Earth -

   You stand in an alley at eleven o'clock at night on June 22nd, the summer constellations shimmering in the Brooklyn heat. Bending at the knees slightly, you jump. Imagining yourself holding a rope looped around your target, you "pull" the rope as you jump, bending space and landing gently on the roof twelve feet above where you started.

   Creeping over the slate roof, you kneel down next to the figure sitting at the edge and whisper, " 'Evening, Rocket."

   Bradley, aka Rocket, yawns and stands. "Good evening, 'Rider. The streets are quiet tonight, although the Red Eye is meeting for some street wrestling down on Waterman. Lady said to keep an eye on them in case they get rowdy."

   "Gotcha," you reply, nodding as he walks over to the fire escape.

   "Oh, and Sedentary Man has the 4 o'clock shift."

   You groan. Even on the best of days, you and Mitch, aka Sedentary Man, do not get along. He's had a very obvious crush on you for a while and refuses to take a hint. And when no one else is around, he gets extra pushy. Meeting with him at 4 in the morning is just what you need.

   You turn back to the edge of the roof and step off, bending space so your foot lands on the next building's roof. You do the required loop around downtown to make sure all is well, before ending up on the glass roof of an abandoned club.

   Carefully making sure the black and silver mask that covers the top half of your face and the hood of your jacket are still in place, your eyes unwillingly flick up to the sky. They trace the outline of the constellation Orion, then over to Ursa Major and Minor and finally, finally, to the North Star. Your dead father's words echo in your ears.

   "Travelers from all of time used the North Star to direct them on their adventures. No matter where your gifts take you, know that home, here with your mom and I, will always be your North Star."

   You laugh sullenly. Oh really, dad? Well now our home is just a pile of ashes, along with you and mom. What do I use as my North Star now?

   It's an old, worn-out argument that you always bring up in your head when you see the North Star and you don't think you'll ever stop bringing it up, not really. Not until you receive your answer. Feeling restless, you stand.

   Your reflection on the glass roof is outlined by the moon, making you look like a mythical shade, a being of shadows and spells. The restless feeling intensifies, solidifying into a tugging sensation in your gut. The glowing orange letters and symbols that are always present at the edge of your vision with notes about your vitals and the environment, come up with a single, red word - MAGIC.

   Curiosity joins the tugging feeling. Deciding this is a thousand times better than sitting on rooftops, you set off. Following the tugging, you move eastward across downtown, over apartments, alleys, warehouses, and worn-down shops. Occasionally, you adjust your path when the sensation shifts. The farther you move from the club, the stronger the sensation gets, until it turns into a weight in your gut.

   Bending the space over a dimly lit alley, you stop when the weight suddenly switches back into a tugging feeling, pointing you back in the direction you'd come from. Turning around and stepping back to the roof edge, you stop when the tugging becomes a weight again. Anticipation fills you as you look down into the alley to see ... three thugs playing cards.

   Deflating, you glance up and down the alley. Empty, except for the game, a smelly dumpster, and a few pieces of trash being pushed around by the light breeze. Looking over the rooftops, you spot a familiar tall, brick building and just then realize how far you've really traveled. You glare childishly at the building, then look back down at the game. Had one of them guided you here with magic? They all looked like normal thugs though, enjoying a quiet night. None of them paid any attention to anything but their game, giving no indication that one of them was expecting you to be there.

   Deciding there was no harm in it, you sit cross-legged on the roof, careful to keep in the shadows, away from the single, back door light illuminating the game. You watch, determining in twenty-seven point four seconds that all of them are cheating, and with the same technique, too.

   Suddenly, you lean forward. Was that a spark? There, hanging above the group. The green spark flickered and grew rapidly, until it was a pillar of green and gold fire. The thugs drew back in shock as the fire flared and flashed twice, then vanished. In its place stood a man.


	2. Chapter 2

   You had to hold back a whistle because man, he was quite the looker! Standing at least six feet tall, dressed in green fabric and black leather with gold accents, his black hair shoulder length and slightly curled at the bottom. Piercing green eyes surveyed the alleyway and the three men. You were pulled out of your reverie by the sound of swearing.

  
   "Who do you think you are, droppin' in on our game like thaht?!" one of the thugs stood up. It was obvious that he was in some kind of leadership position and was trying to keep the respect of his two buddies by blustering through his fear.

  
   You wait anxiously for the man's response, but he doubled over, almost into a crouch, breathing raggedly. You suddenly noticed that he was sweating and his face was pale. Oh no, you thought as the lead thug advanced on him.

  
   "I think we oughta teach him some manners. Waddaya say, boys?" The other two thugs made a show of cracking their knuckles and rolling their necks as they advance to encircle the man who was still bent over. Shocked, you are convinced they couldn't be stupid enough to attack this man who had just appeared out of thin air. Convinced, that is, until the blows start raining down on the defenseless man who disappeared from your view in the flurry of punches and kicks, his cries of pain echoing in the alley.

  
   Cursing your slowness, you jump off of the roof, pushing off at an angle and bending space, pulling yourself forward so your feet connect with the lead thug's head. As he fell with a cry, you push off slightly to avoid landing on his head and possibly killing him. Planting your feet on the pavement, you spin and leap at the other two who have yet to notice you, still concentrating on the man curled up at their feet.

  
   Launching yourself at the man on the left first, you perform a roundhouse kick that would have made Lady, your close combat teacher, proud. Your foot connects with the thug's chest, sending him flying backwards across the alley and into the wall. The last thug gets a solid punch to the stomach, knocking him off his feet.

  
   You place one foot on either side of the downed man, unconscious and most likely badly wounded, standing between him and the thugs. Facing the thugs, including the leader who had managed to pull himself up using the brick wall, you think, V7. The mental command shifts the wires used to replace your smoke and ash damaged vocal chords seven years prior.

  
   Now speaking in a deep, male voice, you growl at the thugs from under your hood. "This man is under my protection. Be glad you are still alive, then do the smart thing and run."

  
   You feel a thrill go through you as you see fear flash in their eyes. You imagine how you must look to them - a "man" in a fitted, black jacket, the hood up, a black half mask with silver accents on the top covering the top half of "his" face, black pants, black combat boots, and a belt slung across your hips with knife and gun holsters visible. Not to mention the appearing-out-of-thin-air stunt and your obvious fighting skills. The thugs do the smart thing and run, the two half carrying their leader between them.

  
   Your smug grin is wiped off of your face when you look down at the mystery man. Swinging your left foot over, you crouch in front of him and press your fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. You breathe a sigh of relief when you feel the blood still pumping slowly, but steadily.

  
   Pressing the back of your right temple and counting to three, you activate the scanners in your brain. Focusing hard on the man and running your eyes slowly along his (very fine) body, his outline shows up in front of your eyes, the left side of his head, two ribs, his right thigh and ankle all glowing shades of red and orange. You thank his lucky stars there are no internal injuries.

  
   I need to get him somewhere safe, so I can fully treat his injuries. You almost face-palm when you remember where you are - your "lair" is just a hop and a skip away!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> If you're enjoying this fic, leave a kudo and/or comment! See something that needs editing? Leave a comment!  
> Honestly, getting an email that says someone has left a kudo really brightens my day :)  
> See you next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

   Whispering an apology in his ear, you quickly slide your arms underneath his unconscious form and straighten. The sudden shift jostles his injuries and he whimpers, the sound going straight to your heart. Pausing to allow your shoulder muscles to recalibrate in order to support his weight, you watch as the man's eyelids flicker and pray he stays asleep. Up close, you admire his sharp cheekbones and high forehead under the blooming bruises.

  
   Feeling the click under your skin of the sockets sliding into place, you bend your knees slightly and hop, yanking space more than bending it in an effort to avoid hurting the man in your travel to the rooftop. The added weight and effort brings a sheen of sweat to your face and neck, but you push on. Walking over to the opposite edge of the roof, you step and again pull space to reach the next roof.

  
   By the time you reach the parking lot of the House, your clothes are sticky with sweat and you can feel a headache coming on, but the mystery man still sleeps soundly in your arms. Checking the parking lot and building windows first, you step off of the roof and gently push space to slow your descent. You land gently on the sidewalk and set off in a rolling jog.

  
   Glancing around as you run, you reach the building without seeing anyone else. Inching around the corner, you reach what used to be the cover of the House's basement door.

   Shifting the man's weight to your right arm as much as possible, the joints creaking slightly, you press your thumb against the finger-shaped indentation in the brick three up and two over from the door's middle hinge.

  
   A click signals the locks you installed being pulled back. Bending into an awkward crouch around the unconscious figure in order to reach the shin-high doors, you grab the left handle and pull the door open. A rush of cool air brushes past you and dissipates in the night. Stepping over the low threshold, you walk down the brick stairs, closing and locking the door behind you.

  
   You have to take the stairs sideways, protecting the man's head from hitting the walls in the dark. Not for the first time, you curse the lack of light and pray you didn't leave anything on the staircase again.

  
   Exiting the stairway safely, the motion-activated lights, a commodity that you had installed on a whim a few years back, kick on, almost blinding you. The disks in your eyes quickly shift focus until you can see straight again.

  
   Your "lair", as you fondly refered to it, consisted of an American football field-sized underground room, complete with a medical area, locker area, workout area, laundry area, a full bathroom and a desk area. Piles of boxes littered the room, leftover from before the House moved from storing things in the basement to the attic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying the story? Leave a kudo.  
> See something that needs editing? Leave a comment.  
> See you next week, my lovely readers!


	4. Chapter 4

   You weave between the boxes to lay the unconscious man on a gurney that you had found in a hospital dumpster and cleaned up. Reactivating your scanners, you are happy to note that the trip across the rooftops hadn't aggravated the man's wounds. Turning to your cabinets of medical supplies, you set to work stitching, setting, and bandaging. After treating his face first, you realized his armor would have to come off.

  
   Switching from scanner vision to x-ray, you checked for zippers, buttons, anything that could tell you how on the world you were supposed to undress him. You started panicking when you couldn't find any, worried you would have to cut his clothes off, your x-ray vision began highlighting buckles that you had previously missed. Blowing out a breath in relief, you began working off his armor, setting it on the floor to deal with later.

  
   Fifty minutes, multiple yards of medical wrap, a packet of plaster, and two metal rods later, you straighten from your bent position over the man, stretching your back and hearing a few clicks. You wonder about painkillers, but decide to hold off until he wakes up.

  
   Searching through a few boxes of bedding to find a few that weren't too torn or soiled, you shoot up and smack your forehead. You are supposed to be on patrol right now!

   Shifting through your pockets for your comm unit, you finally find it tucked into your right boot. Wiggling it out, you reluctantly dial Mitch's number. Shifting nervously, you watch the little phone on the screen wiggle four times, although it feels like an eternity.

  
   Mitch's bleary face appeared on the screen, his long, blonde hair plastered to his forehead.

  
   " 'Sup, Warp Rider?" he says, using your full "superhero name".

  
   "Mitch, I need you to take over my shift." you reply bluntly.

  
   "Why?"

  
    You deliberate on how much to tell him before settling on the simple. "I found an injured man in an alley and do not feel comfortable leaving him alone until he wakes up, but I'm supposed to be on the eleven to four street shift."

  
   Mitch seemed to be considering it, then a sly smile spread across his face. Oh no...

  
   "Sure, I'll take the rest of your shift, as well as do my own, but you have to go on a date with me in return."

  
   You consider saying some very choice words to him until you hear a low moan come from the med corner.

  
   "Fine," you decide. Mitch does a small fist pump, his face splitting into a big grin. You have to hold back a growl, so you hang up.

  
   Grabbing the blankets you'd gathered, plus two pillows, you fashioned a makeshift bed for the man in an open space near the backdoor. It was in clear view of two cameras and if the man woke up and felt the need to leave without saying thanks, he had a clear path to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying this story? Leave a kudo!  
> Read something that you especially enjoy or just found something that needs editing? Leave a comment!  
> See you next week, my lovely readers!


	5. Chapter 5

   After shifting him from the gurney to the blankets and tucking a blanket around his shoulders, you stand up and sigh, flipping a loose piece of hair behind your ear. Sitting down for just a second on an extra pillow, you rest your elbows on your knees and contemplate the man in front of you.

   Finally, you stand, groaning as your human joints and muscles protest, the mechanical parts working smoothly. Weaving your way to your wall of lockers, you close your eyes and concentrate.

   Now, to anyone else, your wall of lockers looks like a plain stone wall devoid of decoration. As you concentrate, bringing your mental focus to the energies of space, the same energies that allow you to simply step over long distances, you picture your lockers.

   Each the size of a small microwave, stacked five high and twelve long, the ones in use are all labeled, with empty ones waiting for later use. Scanning the wall, you walk to the left until you reach the locker labeled "CIVILIAN CLOTHES". Reaching out and wrapping your hand around the locker's handle, you open your eyes to see the outline of the locker glowing in the air before you.

   Tugging, the drawer appears as it slides open from the air in front of you. Sifting through, you pull out jeans, a t-shirt and underwear. Concentrating again, you close the drawer and it's glowing outline vanishes back into space energy with a small pop.

   Heading to the bathroom, you stop once to check on the man again and once to grab a screwdriver, x-head, from the toolbox under your desk. Pausing half inside the bathroom, you sync the web connection in your head to the cameras and minimize the feed to the lower left corner of your vision field. Satisfied, you take a quick, hot shower, dress and brush your teeth, all while keeping an eye on your mystery man in case he wakes up.

   Sitting on the toilet with the lid down, you roll up your right sleeve to uncover your shoulder, screwdriver between your teeth. Wedging the head under the switch, disguised as a freckle, you pop the cover plate off of your right shoulder to reveal the springs, cogs, wires and more that were spread throughout over half of your body. Setting the cover on the counter, an image of your body pops up in your vision, the right shoulder flashing red. You minimize it and get to work.

   Reaching in carefully, you nudge some wires apart to get at one of the calibrators. You'd felt it giving a little as you'd carried the man and sure enough, two of the cords had loosened. You tighten each one with a quick twist of the screwdriver on the four screws and replace the cover. It snaps back in place, hiding your secret once more.

   Tossing your suit and cloak into the clothes washer and leaving a bottle of water by the man's blankets, you exit and lock the storage room you'd made into your lair, pocketing the key, and head up the basement stairs. Checking the hall carefully before exiting the stairwell, you head up the main stairs of the orphanage, listening intently for footsteps and avoiding the creaky steps by habit.

   Making it to the second floor, you turn right, thinking your night vision on to avoid any toys or clothes left in the hall. Reaching for the doorknob of the fifth door on the right, you slip the door open. Closing the door softly, you climb into bed and switch on your alarm clock before settling into the mattress and into sleep mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyed this chapter? Leave a kudo!  
> See something you especially liked or something that needs editing? Leave a comment!  
> See you next week, lovely readers!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A late night out with my family and I totally forgot to post!! Forgive me, dear readers?

     The next morning, after breakfast, you rush through your list of chores - make your bed, wash and fold two loads of laundry, and review math with the children ages seven and eight. At the moment, Saint Mary's House for Orphans hosted seventy-two children, thirty-six of them below the age of twelve, and almost half of the kids off in their current foster homes.

  Your live feed from the security cameras in your lair plays in the corner of your vision. Any small movement, real or imagined, has you freezing in your work to check the feed again. Ms. Hedson, a widowed worker at the House, notices your distracted state and, after you tell the children that six times two is eight, sends you off with a shake of her head and the advice to "get some more sleep".

   After wandering aimlessly around the building, you finally grant yourself permission to enter the basement again. Your key clicks into the lock softly, the door gliding open without a sound.

   Shutting off the feed to give your eyes a rest, you tip-toe over to the man, still passed out on the blankets, the bottle of water untouched. Scanning him, you stop, puzzled, then scan him again. His injuries were all healed. Deciding to leave the plaster and bandages on at least another couple hours, just in case, you head over to your desk to write up a report about your shift the night before. You set your writing on autopilot so you can ponder.

   The mystery surrounding this man just keeps expanding. He shows up in the middle of an alley at night, setting off your magic sensors. He gets beat up and passes out. Less than twelve hours later, his injuries are healed, but he's still passed out. Where did he come from? Why is he here? What are you going to do with him if he's still out when you have to go on tonight's shift?

   A blue light blinks at the top of your vision field, alerting you that the report is done. Setting down your pen, you read it through. Satisfied, it takes less than three minutes for you to scan the paper and email it to Lady (full name: Lady Black), the head of the little gang of teenagers with special powers that patrols Brooklyn, keeping the city safe.

   You lean back in the plush office chair, playing with the pen while staring off into space and thinking of nothing. A steady beat begins to play in your head. Bump-bump. Bump-bump.

   After a moment, it clicks what it is you're listening to. Almost falling out of the chair in surprise, you shut down your extra ear sensors, wishing you had the same control over the blood vessels in your skin as your face starts to burn, even though there's no one around to see. Get a grip! you try and tell yourself. You are acting like an overprotective girlfriend!

   You busy yourself with chores. Hanging your suit to dry, cleaning up the medical supplies you'd left out the night before, then starting on your workout routine. Part way through your fifty minutes with the punching bag, an alarm sounds, quick and blaring, in your head, that red word - MAGIC - popping up again in your vision.

    Even with your exceptional reflexes, you barely have a chance to process the sudden information when something hits your back. A surge of magical energy sends you to the floor, senses reeling, alarms in your head blaring, muscles clenching in pain and shock.

   Gritting your teeth, you switch on the energy dampeners with a thought, guiding the energy out of your human nerves and into your robotic hands. Cupping your hands, a ball of frosty green magic coalesces in your palms. Getting to your feet, you turn around, ready to launch it back at your attacker, when your eyes catch on him. The man from the alley, sitting up and staring at you with a look of confusion.

   "How are you not asleep?" he questions. Before you can answer, his energy seems to drain away and he falls back onto the blankets.

   Dispersing the magic into the air, you run to him. Mentally smacking yourself for not doing it before, you scan him for magical reserves and find his dangerously low. Well now you know why he's sleeping so much and how he healed so fast. The spell he'd just thrown at you must have taken more energy than he had to give, knocking him out again.

   You go to your lockers and open the one labeled "SECURE" to find the magic-guiding bracelets Doctor Strange had given to you. Originally, they had been to store the extra magical energy you'd given off before you had learned to control it. Now, with the spell altered a bit, they sucked up any magical attack sent your way. As Doctor Strange had told you many times, you had been extremely lucky. A mother with a mutation and a father with magical gifts, their child born with both. Stories could be found on the news and online of what happened to children, born with a mutation or gift of some kind, in families that weren't so accepting and understanding. Being disowned tended to be the luckiest fate. You clip the bracelets around your wrists.

   Sitting back down at your desk, the closest thing to the man's bed, you spin the chair to face him. Running multiple formulas, you calculate that, given his rate of recovery, he should wake up in approximately one hour and twenty-one minutes. While you wait, starting a timer application and keeping it in the top left corner of your vision field, you open a scan of your body and check for magical damage.

   Using a technique from your father, whenever you find a bit of magical energy that you'd missed in your initial channeling, you imagine a pair of tweezers pulling the stringy energy out and away from you, dispersing it into the air. You notice that this brand of magic seems to stick only to your human parts. You smile to yourself. He was expecting a human when he fired that spell and instead got a cyborg with magical abilities. Lucky him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this chapter? Leave a kudo!  
> See something you especially like or just something that needs editing? Leave a comment!  
> See you next week, lovely readers!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next month is what I've lovingly labeled "Fire & Brimstone month", when I take AP exams and end of year exams. The month has yet to start and I'm already feeling the effects. So updates will be spotty, if they happen at all. Good luck to anyone else starting or finishing testing!! & Thank you to everyone who has left me comments or kudos, you are beautiful people!

You are stuck on a particularly stubborn piece of energy wrapped around one of your lower vertebrae when the timer hits zero with a soft *ping!* only you can hear. Quickly finishing with the piece and dispersing it into the air, you stand and move closer to the man, but still keeping a good couple of feet between him and you. You suddenly wonder if you should grab one of your weapons, just in case. Magic can only do so much.

  Quickly, you take a step back, pulling space as you do so, to end up next to your desk again. Opening the bottom drawer, you pull out the loaded handgun you keep hidden there. Closing the drawer and taking a step forward, pulling space again, you resume your position.

  Forty-six seconds later, the man stirs and opens his eyes. Catching sight of you, he tries to quickly sit up. The blood drains out of his face and you rush forward to grab his arm, cautioning him to not strain himself as you lower him back to the blankets. Tucking the gun in your belt, you sit back on your heels as the man surveys the room. Or pretends to survey the room while actually surveying you.

  Finally meeting your gaze, his eyes narrow. "Where am I and what have you done to me?"

  Taken aback at the vehemence in his voice, you answer quickly, hoping to avoid conflict.

  "You appeared in an alleyway six blocks from here, fifteen hours and seventeen minutes ago. I brought you here to bandage the injuries you received after landing in the middle of a card game. Aside from that and giving you a place to recover, I haven't done anything to you."

  He considers your words and seems to find them lacking somehow. "What have you done to my magic?"

  "Nothing. I think whatever method you used to appear in that alley drained your magic. And if you are about to ask why your spell didn't work on me, the answer is that you aren't the only one with secrets."

  "What realm is this?"

  "What?" you query, then remember a tidbit you had read when researching Thor and Norse mythology (all part of being in a fandom). "Oh, Midgard, right? That's what Earth is called?"

  He looks relieved. "Perfect. Mortal, I need transportation to-"

  "Woah woah woah, slow down, buddy! First of all, my name is not "mortal", so you can knock that off. Second, you can barely sit up, I don't think you are going to be getting "transportation" anywhere today. As your medical care provider, I would suggest at least another twenty-four hours of bed rest before you trapeze off to whatever destination you had in mind."

  Your speech seems to tick him off. "Woman, do you have any idea who you are speaking to?"

  "Obviously not. Care to enlighten me?"

  "I am Loki Laufeyson, the king of Asgard and god of Mischief!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying this story? Leave a kudo!  
> See something you especially liked or just something that needs editing? Leave a comment!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently updating this from school after finishing my 4th of 6 (or 7) end of year test-things. I'm somewhat surprised that I'm still coherent... Anyway, celebration update!! Good luck to everyone else out there who are beginning/doing/finishing exams/SOLs/stuff!!

  "Well, I am Winter, of the house of Laeman, orphan, resident of Brooklyn, part time superhero and practitioner of magic." you respond sassily.

  "You are a superhero of Earth? Are you in contact with the team known as the Avengers?" Loki asks.

  "Yes to the first question, but no to the second, sadly. However, Mr. Loki, if you are looking for them, Avengers Tower is only five point six miles northeast of here. Tomorrow," you emphasize the word, "you can buy a train ticket. But for now, are you hungry?"

  Loki appears about to respond, but your question catches him off guard. He regards you carefully, then replies slowly, "Do you plan on poisoning me? Because I must advise you that any action taken to harm or kill me will be met with forces you cannot hope to contend with."

  You can't help yourself - you laugh. "My only wish is to feed your majesty and get you safely out of my house and to your destination. Poisoning you would be detrimental to this goal, no?"

  You stand before he can answer. "Lunch was a couple hours ago, but I'm sure I can dig up something. Can I trust you to stay put?" You give him what you hope is a stern look. Loki rolls his eyes, but stays laying down.

  "I would hate to anger the person preparing my food." His dry humor catches you off guard, so you leave. Quickly.

  Digging in the pantry, you hear movement behind you and whip around to see Linkon, your roommate, standing in the doorway. Smiling, you greet your friend.

  "You wouldn't happen to know where Shelly hides the chocolate chips, would you?" she asks you, rustling through the cabinets beside you. You huff, of course chocolate is what she'd be looking for. A quick x-ray shows multiple caches of hidden foods.

  "Behind the basket of apples," you supply, grabbing a can of chicken noodle soup and a package of crackers, along with one of the apples. "Thanks!" Linkon almost flies across the pantry to pull down the apples and reveal a paper bag. You leave before she gets the bag down, but you can definitely hear her joyful squeal.

    Smiling to yourself, you turn into the kitchen, located next to the pantry. Digging out a pan, you pop the can open, dump it in, and set it on the stove to boil. As you're digging around for something resembling a tray, you hear footsteps entering the kitchen.

   Thinking it's Linkon again, you jump when you pop up from under the counter and come face-to-face with Mrs. Dennie, the self-appointed hall police.

   "And just what do you think you're doing, Miss Laeman?" she growls, her gray eyes sharp under thin, carefully shaped eyebrows. Her lips are eternally pursed in disapproval.

   Pointing to the stove, you reply simply, "Making soup, Mrs. Dennie. Can I help you with something?"

   "Lunch was three hours ago. Dinner is in less than another three. Why can you not wait?"

   "I missed lunch, I was crafting again." This is your backup excuse for when you escape to the basement to either work out, practice, or change to go patrol the streets. Thanks to a little "accident" between Mrs. Dennie and a model dart gun, she tends to stay away now.

   "Fine. But don't make a mess!" She storms out of the kitchen before you can respond. You finish setting the food up on the tray, pouring the soup into a bowl, filling the pan with hot water and leaving it in the sink to take care of later, and grabbing a spoon.

   Navigating the halls and stairs carefully, grateful again for your enhanced balance, you manage to make it back downstairs without spilling or tripping. As you shift the tray to unlock the door, you suddenly realize something and it brings you to a halt - you hadn't tuned in to the security cameras to keep an eye on Loki. He had implied that he would stay put and you had trusted him.

   This realization scares you more than Loki does. Then again, you don't know anything about him. For all you know, he could be a mass murderer! For some reason, this thought makes you smile. You unlock and open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi, you all know what to do by now ;) Read, enjoy, kudo, comment. 
> 
> See y'all... Hopefully soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really be asleep by now. *shrugs* oh well, enjoy!

   You come around the corner of a pile of boxes to see Loki peeling off his bandages.

  
   "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" you question, placing the tray on the desk to put your hands on your hips. Loki gives you the most nonchalant, "I'm innocent" look you've ever seen as he continues to unwrap his right leg.

   "I have no need for these anymore," he says as he drops the curling, linen ribbon into a pile on the floor. "A son of Jotunheim and Asgard heals much faster than a puny human."

   "A son of what and what now?" you ask, gathering up the bandages with a huff. Taking them over to your med table, you turn around in time to see Loki getting a grip on the edge of the plaster wrapped around his ribs.

   "Wait-" you start, when he gives a sudden jerk. The plaster breaks apart with a snap! that echoes around the room. Stunned, you watch with your mouth partially opened as he stands, plaster and blankets falling to the floor. He brushes off his black undershirt and pants, then strides -not walks, strides- over to your desk, bare feet gliding on the concrete.

   He sits down as if he were attending a banquet and tastes a spoonful of soup before answering your question, his back to you.

   "Jotunheim and Asgard. Two of the nine realms. I was born in Jotunheim, but I live and rule in Asgard."

   As he continues eating, you pull out your phone, tucked in your back pocket, and do a quick Google search. Wikipedia and Norse websites pop up, but it's the news articles from early last year that catch your eye. You gulp, wishing your joke earlier had stayed just that. A joke.

   Walking around to the front of the desk, you lean on a stack of boxes and survey Loki as he eats.

   "So," you drawl, mentally prepared for a fight. "When were you going to inform me that you were the one who attacked New York last year with an alien army in an attempt to take over the world and ended up killing thousands?"

   A look of pain flashes over his face, but it's gone before you can comment. He sets down his spoon and looks at you, placing his hands in his lap. "I apologize. I assumed you knew and chose to take me in anyway. I can leave if my presence bothers you."

   You stare at him, hard, weighing the pros and cons. He sits quietly, returning your gaze and holding very still. Finally, figuring it's better to have him where you can keep an eye on him instead of wandering the streets, your gaze softens.

   "Eat," you say, gesturing to the tray. "You can stay. For now."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't update because one of my friends gave me an amazing idea and I had a bit of a panic attack trying to figure out how to fit it in since I couldn't just go back and change things in what I've already posted and make you all read from the starting, but it's all good! Plus, I figured I had to let you all know that I am done with school for the next two and a half months! Enjoy!

   He tilts his head to the side slightly, nodding once, before picking up his spoon. "Thank you," he says quietly as he resumes eating.

  
   "No problem," you mutter sarcastically, pushing off the boxes and walking back over to the gurney. Gathering the pile of armor off of the floor and into your arms, you plop it onto a box next to him.

  
   "How can you stand to wear this stuff?" you ask, poking at the thick woven fabric and strips of metal.

  
   "You become accustomed to it after a while." He finishes off the soup and picks up the apple. "After training and fighting in it, I realized that in combat, I would rather be uncomfortable and whole, than comfortable, but dead, without it."

  
   You think of your own hero suit. Before you joined Lady Black's Team and got your hands on more advanced materials, your suit had comprised of a hoodie over a bulletproof vest, from the army surplus store, over a long sleeve shirt, jeans over sweatpants (you'd hoped the layers would lead to fewer injuries), and tennis shoes. It had taken a while, but you'd adapted to the uncomfortable mix of clothes. Your phone buzzes from your boot. It's a text from Mitch.

   "about that date you owe me... you free saturday at 10am?"

  
   "Is something the matter?" You look up from the text to see Loki giving you a concerned glance.

  
   "No. Why do you ask?" you reply, crossing your arms and tucking the phone against your side.

  
   "You are scowling."

  
   "I don't scowl!"

  
   Loki gave you an "alright, whatever you say" look and placed his apple core on the tray. Standing, he gave a short bow in your direction. "Thank you for the meal."

  
   "No problem," you shrug. A thought crosses your mind and you point to your left. "Bathroom is over there. Feel free to use the toilet and the shower if you need to."

  
   He nodded and headed to the door you had pointed out. Your eyes followed Loki until he shut the bathroom door behind himself. Then you focus on your phone again, wondering how to respond to Mitch.

  
   You search your calendar, hoping something will magically appear, but your whole Saturday is open. Finally, you send Mitch a simple "Yes". Your auditory pieces twitch as they pick up the sound of the shower running. Rubbing your ears at the odd feeling (it's been seven years and it still bothers you), you remember your interrupted training time. You've still got thirty-seven minutes to go with the punching bag.

  
   Twenty-one minutes later, in the midst of a duck-and-weave drill, you hear the bathroom door opening. Straightening, you turn towards the sound to ask Loki if he had figured out the finicky shower alright, but your question dies in your mouth at the sight of the man in question standing in the bathroom doorway wearing nothing but a towel and the water running from his dripping hair. You blink, then quickly cover your eyes. Too late. The image is burned into your eyelids.

  
   "Left my armor out here," Loki murmured.

  
   "You could have cracked the door open and asked for it instead of waltzing out here half naked," you reply, turning your extra auditory pieces back on so you can hear Loki's footsteps cross the floor.

  
   "But where's the fun in that?" You can hear the grin in his voice.

  
   "Indeed, where's the fun in that?" you say in a low tone, hoping the rustling and clinking his armor is making will cover your voice. Loki's low chuckle tells you otherwise. With the sound of his footsteps retreating to the bathroom, you face the punching bag again before uncovering your eyes.

    Determined to finish, you tune out all distractions, especially sounds. You jab and duck, kick and roll. Pulling out a few gel targets, you practice with your pistol and knives. You finish practice with your staff, an elegant piece of honey-colored wood you carved with your mom.

   At this point, you simply close your eyes and let your imagination free, creating enemies of all shapes, sizes and skill. Your muscles loose, blood flowing warm through every part of your body, both human and machine, you flow through the stances, throwing in a few backbends, cartwheels and flips. The mat is smooth beneath your bare feet. The ridges of your staff are like a familiar hand in your grasp, the attacks and defensive moves a well learned melody.

   Sweeping the feet out from under the last figure, you bring the staff down on their temple to knock them out. Your staff hits the mat and the loud smack! brings you back to Earth with a bump. Exhaling loudly, you set your staff on the mat and grab behind your calves, stretching.

   A satisfied grin flickers across your face as your body folds perfectly in half, no unusual snaps or clicks. You pick the staff up again and straighten to realize you have an audience. Loki leans against the desk with his arms folded and ankles crossed. His eyes follow your every movement with something almost like admiration.

   Catching your gaze, Loki pushed off from the desk. "Care to face a real opponent?" He held out a hand, green magic coalescing in his palm, expanding and then disappearing to reveal a smooth, black staff.

   "You're supposed to be taking it easy while your injuries heal," you say with uncertainty as Loki walks onto the mat.

   "I assure you, I am fully healed, thanks to your medical care." He spread his arms wide as if to show off his health.

   "Hmm... I don't think so." You turn away and step off the mat.

   The feel of moving air on the back of your neck makes you duck. Spinning around, staff up to block any more attacks, you glare at Loki. Mirroring your stance, he threw you a smirk. Fine, you decide. If he wants a fight, he's going to get a fight.

   You launch your body at him, forcing him to go on the defensive. You and Loki take turns attacking, observing the others' fighting style. After eleven minutes and sixteen seconds of neither of you landing a blow, Loki swings for your head, then, while your staff is up, aims a kick at your stomach. You catch his staff on yours and, putting all of your weight into the move, shove his staff to the side. Your move knocks Loki off balance and his kick goes higher than he expected.

   Bringing your staff down, you hook it under his foot and lift, throwing him onto the floor. Loki lands with a loud huff. Before you can call end, he sweeps his staff at your feet. You jump back, giving him the time and space he needed to stand back up.

   You can't help it. You start to smile. It begins with a twitch, then grows into a lopsided grin as you come to realize how evenly matched you are with Loki. You can feel it in every blow, every duck and block. You are used to being the better fighter, even when you train with Lady. You are faster, stronger, and learn quicker. But not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read, enjoy, kudo, comment! Please and thank you ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just clicked for me that I'm not going to be getting back from this youth conference until early early Saturday morning, so I figured I'd update earlier rather than later!

   Twelve minutes...

   Thirteen minutes...

   Sixteen minutes...

   Twenty minutes...

   After twenty-four minutes of sparring back and forth across the mat, you make a fatal mistake. Sweat drips into your eye and instead of letting your optic filter take care of it, you absentmindedly reach up and wipe it away. Your distraction gives Loki an opening and he takes it. Two seconds later, you're flat on your back with the wind knocked out of you and the end of Loki's staff laid lightly on your throat.

   You take a moment to just observe, getting your breath back. Loki's hair had dried sometime during the fight. It was still midnight black and shiny, but now it was even more curly than before he showered. The curls draped over his ears, cheeks and neck as he leaned over you. His green eyes sparked with mischief, accentuated by this flushed cheekbones.

   "Alright, you beat me. Let me up," you grunt, shoving at his staff. He holds the position for half a second longer, then relents and pulls back. As you sit up, his hand enters your field of vision. Without a second thought, you take it and let Loki pull you onto your feet.

   You let go of his hand as soon as your feet are flat on the floor, not wanting things to turn into a cliche teenage romance movie moment or something. Taking a step back, you hold your staff vertical at your side and bow. Loki returns the gesture. Straightening, you exhale and laugh. Loki raised an eyebrow, so you answer the unasked question.

   "In my eight years of sparring, I've only found..." you pause to count. "Three people who could match me. Only one of them could beat me. Congratulations. You are now part of a very exclusive club."

   You step off of the mat, grabbing your water bottle off of the ground as you go. Leaning your staff against the wall, you open the bottle and drink until it's empty. You throw the bottle in the small trash can beside the desk and grab two more from the pallet next to the mat. Tossing one to Loki, you settle on the floor, legs outstretched, and set the unopened bottle at your side.

   As you lean over your outstretched legs, stretching, you decide it's high time you asked the question that's been flying through your head since Loki appeared in the alley. Without looking up from your knees, you open your mouth and ask.

   "Loki, why did you come to Earth?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next part is chock-full of a backstory built very much on Marvel canon and I've been stuck on it for ages (procrastinating) because of all the research that needed doing and such, so hopefully the long bus rides to and from the conference will give me time to gather my notes and dive in head first to get it written by next Friday. 
> 
> Read, enjoy, kudo, comment!


	12. Chapter 12

   You hear his breath catch. After a moment's pause, the mat creaks. You look up as Loki stepped off and padded across the floor to lean his staff against your desk, before again settling against it himself.

   The gold strips and green scales of his armor shimmered as he crossed his arms and legs. He stared off into space, his mind obviously outside of the basement, perhaps even outside of Earth.

   "The Dark Elves are a race of dark beings from the world of Svartalfheim who predate the current universe itself," Loki began. "They are enemies to the Asgardians and to all life in this universe. Their primary goal is to convert the universe back into a state of eternal darkness for their people, for they believe the current universe to be poisonous. Five thousand years ago, the leader of the Dark Elves, Malekith, sought to use the Convergence and a force of ancient and catastrophic power called the Aether to return the universe to eternal darkness. An army of Asgardians opposed Malekith's forces and took the Aether. We believed that all of the Dark Elves died that day. We were wrong."

   If you hadn't been watching, you would have missed the sight of the blood draining from Loki's face as he spoke of this Malekith. His voice, however, did not waver. 

   "The Aether was rediscovered not many months ago, leading to the reawakening of Malekith and his forces from their cryo-sleep. With the oncoming Convergence, they again sought to end all life but their own dark race, beginning with Asgard. They were stopped, but at the cost of many Asgardian lives. The Dark Elves were again assumed extinct. The truth was that two of their race, a male and a female, survived in the collection of an intergalactic collector."

   They became twisted with hate when they recovered news of the outcome of their people. Their hate led them to dark places and dark people who work dark magic. In their quest for revenge, they found a magic worker who knew how to raise the dead.

   With this magic, they returned to their home world of Svartalfheim and there raised an army of their undead warriors. They laid siege to Asgard five days ago and in that short span of time, they tore apart the Rainbow Bridge, our pathway between the worlds, destroyed many of the outlying towns, and sent too many of my warriors to count to the halls of Valhalla.

   My people have been forced to take refuge in the palace, the last place on Asgard to remain covered by the city's shield generator. The People's Representatives pleaded with me to petition my brother for help, reminding me that it was him who defeated the Dark Elves at the time of the Convergence.

   And so I came." he finished, meeting your eyes. "Now you see why it is of such great importance that I reach New York City as soon as possible, whether I am fully recovered or not."

   Your heart aches at the thought of the suffering Loki had just described, both on the part of the Asgardians and the Dark Elves. The memory of the anger, self pity and soul-deep sadness that came with losing those closest to you turned the ache into a stabbing pain. All thoughts of keeping Loki in Brooklyn until tomorrow vanished.

   "Finish that bottle of water and we'll leave for the station." Okay, so your doctoral impulses hadn't completely left. "You'll be on your way in less than two hours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read, enjoy, kudo, comment!
> 
> Side note - turns out that when you delete a chapter you lose the comments... Dang. If anyone sees anything wrong with the edits I did, please let me know!


	13. Chapter 13

   Twenty-two minutes later, you were on your way. You would've left sooner, but Loki had been a baby about putting on the more inconspicuous clothes you had dug up and putting his armor in a shoulder bag. You'd compromised, letting him magically create his own outfit as long as it passed your inspection.

  
   Now, walking through the afternoon sidewalk traffic, office buildings and cafes rising on either side, the sleek black suit and silver tie helped him blend in while his tall frame caused even the more stubborn businessmen to move out of your way. However, you had to make a conscious effort just to stay focused and not let your eyes and thoughts drift to how, well, sexy he looked in the suit.

  
   The struggle to focus cost you a mini heart attack when a distracted woman carrying groceries and her phone managed to separate you and Loki. You panicked, visions of Loki getting lost in Brooklyn filling your mind.

  
   Reaching between a couple that was trying to further separate you, you snagged Loki's shoulder in a fierce grip, pulling him bodily back to your side. With the danger past, you switched your grip to his elbow. He glared at your hand and, while smoothing the shoulder of his jacket, frostily remarked, "You are wrinkling my suit."

  
   You returned his glare. "Do you want to stay in Brooklyn or would you like to make it to the city in one piece?"

  
   "I can take care of myself," Loki stated, eyes forward once more. He didn't try and remove your hand.

  
   If only the entire adventure could have gone as smoothly.

  
   Groaning, you glared up at the station's schedule with your hands on your hips. "Great. We just missed it. And the next one doesn't leave for another hour."

  
   "Are all Midgardian methods of travel so unreliable?" Loki asks from his place to your right.

  
   You open your mouth to reply before stopping to really consider the question. A man jostles you to get closer to the board, not even bothering to pause his million-mile-an-hour phone conversation to apologize. Rolling your eyes, you grab Loki's sleeve again and pull him out of the growing crowd. Finding an empty bench, you sit down and decide that explaining Midgardian methods of travel isn't too horrible a way to pass an hour.

  
   "We Midgardians have varied methods of travel - planes, trains, cars, boats-" you pause as a black light flickers at the edge of your vision, triggering the hairs on the back of your neck to raise. A warning that you are being watched. You methodically survey the station, past experience keeping you from shrugging it off, as you continue the list. " - walking- and those are just the major ones."

  
   Fourteen women in business suits, eight women in dresses, eleven in skirts, sixteen women in casual clothing, twenty-seven men in business suits, twenty-two men in polos or button-ups, twenty-four in casual clothing, nine children, and three teenagers. Ten station workers, two police, and a janitor.

  
   "Then you have smaller modes of transportation - four-wheelers, motorcycles, canoes, farm equipment." Loki sits quietly beside you, also surveying the station.

  
   The black light continues to flicker.

  
   "While they all have their faults and you have to constantly pay for repairs and upkeep until they become too old to function, they're generally reliable as long as the person operating the machine knows what they are doing. In our case, it's not that the train is unreliable, we just didn't get here soon enough to catch it. I don't know how it is on Asgard, but here on Midgard, you either show up in time to catch your ride or you deal with the consequences."

  
   You turn to Loki. "How do Asgardians travel?"

  
   Loki raises an eyebrow at the question. His response is cut off by all of the station's windows imploding at the same time, the sound similar to standing under a large waterfall as it pounds a pile of rocks into pebbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update was brought to you by the guest who left kudos on here last week and reminded me that there are people who care about this small project of mine.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** PLEASE HEED THE ADDED TAGS - SPECIFICALLY THE VIOLENCE ONE!!**

  Grabbing the back of Loki's head, you pulled him onto the floor, shielding him from the jagged pieces with your body. Through the screams and shattering noises, you could hear a large number of boots tramping closer. 

  Looking up through your eyelashes, your heart thuds painfully. The station had been less than a quarter full not ten seconds before. Now, it was at least half full and becoming more full by the second.  Tall, exceedingly pale-skinned warriors in gray and black armor were pouring in through flickering portals. Despite the fact that these were obviously alien fighters, what really caught your attention was how gross they looked. Like a zombie and an albino had a child, then hired Arnold Schwarzenegger as its personal trainer. 

Loki spat out an unintelligible phrase, presumably in a different language. His green eyes burned and you had to hold yourself still to keep from edging away at the hatred simmering there. You guessed he knew the alien army currently invading the train station, and not in a best-friends-since-grade-school kind of way.  Before you could ask, your gaze catches on one of the warriors, a slimmer type who is missing half an arm. Their eyes zeroed in on you and then on your companion. A dim sort of glee crossed their face and they shouted to the rest, gesturing your way. 

  “Move,” you commanded quietly, grabbing Loki’s arm to pull him up. Heading for the door, you dodged abandoned bags and jumped piles of shattered glass. Stepping quickly up the stairs, you were two feet away from the safety of the street when a commotion caught your attention and brought you to a screeching halt. 

  “What are you doing?” Loki hissed, having already exited through the empty space in the door where there had once been glass and now leaned back in to chastise you. “You need to get me out of here!” 

  The sight that had you nailed to the floor in indecision was that of a child and his mother, huddling in a corner of the station as four of the zombie aliens surrounded them. The lenses in your eyes shifted, bringing the mother’s terrified face and the boy’s tears into focus. Loki was right - you needed to get him to safety. But you also had a responsibility to protect those who couldn't protect themselves in times like this. With great power comes great responsibility and all that comic book superhero stuff.  Reaching into your pants pocket, you tossed a ring of keys to Loki.  

  “The blue one opens the basement door. If I… die, I have a device that will alert my team. They will find you and take you to the Avengers. Now, go.”

  Not waiting for a response, you mentally settled into your role as hero and vaulted the stair railing.  Questions such as “what are you thinking?? and “why are you doing this??” were shoved to the back of your mind. Bending space to clear the stairs, you stuck close to the walls and reached for your staff. Your hand came up empty. Your staff was back at the Home, leaning against your weapons rack. Along with your dart gun, bow and other weapons. Too far away to summon.

  You had a moment of panic, looking around for a substitute weapon when you remembered your knife. When you'd packed it between the waistband of your jeans and your hip, you had doubted it would get through security. The next step in your magic training, illusions, had been put on hold before the school year began when Strange left to contain some cosmic being right before you were sent off to another host family. But now wasn't the time to moan “woe is me”. You had work to do. 

  Drawing the blade, your attention was back on the mother and child in time to see the black sword swinging towards them. Words in the ancient tongue rippled from your mouth as you threw up a shield. An orange and silver dome expanded around the pair. 

_   Almost there, almost there, _ you chanted in your head, plans of attack and rescue formulating as you ran. Focusing on the sword, waiting to see how it rebounded, the splash of red appearing on the walls and floor almost didn't register with your preoccupied mind. The slice of death-cold magic that pierced your forehead half a second later brought everything to a grinding halt and threw you to the floor. Colors blurred together like paint, then grew black. 

  The coppery taste of blood on your tongue brought your mind into focus. Alarms were going off everywhere, inside and out of your head. A diagram of your body with orange and yellow spots was taking up most of your visual field. Minimizing it (no need to be worried unless it starts flashing red), you lifted your head. 

  The bodies of the woman and child lay slumped on the floor, the mother’s arms still wrapped around her son. Square letters scrolled across your vision with warnings of increased heart rate and body temperature. Ignoring the advice to take deep breaths, you were on your feet and quickly advancing on the group. Their attention was now on a couple who were huddling behind a flimsy bench. 

  “HEY, LIVER FACE!” Your anger threw every strategy that began with a sneak attack out of the shattered windows. But your childish insult worked. The foursome turned lethargically, black eyes zeroing in on you. 

  “GO!” you called, waving at the couple to make a break for it. The woman heeded your advice, dragging the shocked man behind her. Relief bled through the anger for a moment. Two lives that would keep on living. You brought your attention back to the advancing group, eyes zeroing in on their weak points as you neared each other. Stomach, chest, neck, head.  _ Here goes nothing, _ you thought as you commanded a shutdown of everything you wouldn’t need - digestive tract, emotions, damage control - and turned on the wiring that held every fighting move and strategy you had ever learned. 

  The first zombie raised some kind of gun, aiming at your head. Duck under the gun, shove it up and back to break the grip and smash it into the grey face while slamming knife between ribs. Pivot to the left, keep down to avoid the spear aimed at you and kick up into the stomach. Grab the spear, twirl it around and down through the chest. Keep ahold of the spear and use it to leap over the body, avoiding the sword slash from behind, then whip back around and kick the nose in and up. Release the sword from cold fingers, jump up and slam it home into a grey chest. Survey. Group of seven coming from the right. Claim spear, keep ahold of sword and run. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by depression-fueled insomnia. Enjoy & I hope everyone in the northern hemispheres is having a great summer and everyone in the southern hemispheres is having a great winter!


	15. Chapter 15

 Everything began to blur into grey shapes and patterns of light and dark. Pain had no effect on you. Everything you were merged into constant movement, constant vigilance, constant action. The only clear thought - if you could call it that - in your head was to track down and stop every moving alien. It didn’t matter how. 

 It was in the middle of working your way through another group of zombies, body blurring, weapons being claimed and discarded, that your senses awoke to the body at your side. Previous notices of it had been discarded as soon as you realized it was neither grey nor threatening your safety. However, the more the green and gold flashed in the corners of your vision, the more your brain began to be distracted by the feeling something was not as it should be. Your fight programing was derailed by this revelation at the worst time possible. In mid air, using the sword lodged in your previous opponent’s head as leverage, your programing mapping out the sequences of kicks and punches that would finish off the last three zombies in the current group, a name hit your conscious like lightning. 

 “Loki,” you gasped. Your concentration shattered, pushing the programing to the backseat of your brain. Your grasp on the sword’s handle faltered and you fell - hard - to the tile floor. Landing on your back, the air left your lungs with a  _ whoosh _ and left you dazed. Aches and pains began to surface, cuts and bruises that had been silent while you fought suddenly taking an interest in being heard as red type flashed across your vision with warnings of decreasing oxygen and blood levels. The overload of pain combined with the lack of oxygen caused your vision to blur. Your mechanical lungs finally remembered they knew how to work and quickly inflated, making you cough and splutter. 

 A growl and the scrape of boots through tinkling glass brought your head back to the situation at hand. Rolling onto your hands and knees with a moan, your bleary eyes caught on the three alien zombies now surrounding you.  _ Crap crap crap!  _ You fought to stand. Everything trembled like a newborn colt, the adrenaline rush long gone. The only impulse on your mind now was the determination to die on your feet. 

 “Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,” you murmured as two swords and a black gun filled the air above your bent form.  _ Right now is probably the worst time ever to quote Macbeth,  _ your brain reminded you.  _ Well it’s now or never,  _ you thought back, your face turned skyward with eyes closed. 

 A yell of fury startled you out of your internal conversation. It startled the aliens as well, drawing their attention to something you couldn’t see from your half kneeling-half standing position. That sound of anger, passionate and compelling, brought with it a rush of strength. A desperate urge to live welled up in your chest. Your hand flashed out, grabbing the closest weapon and yanking it out of the owner’s loose grip. Without looking away from your new targets, your programming catalogued the size and weight distribution of the object in your hands to form a picture of a gun. Perfect. 

 Aim. Fire. One down, two to go. Aim. Fire. Two down, one to go. You whirled in a circle, searching for a foe you were pretty sure existed, only to come face-to-face with a friend. Loki, resplendent in his green and gold armor, was standing over body of the third zombie with a sword buried in its back. 

 “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it.” Loki winked at you with a broad grin. You grinned back, heart fluttering with new adrenaline and a pleasant kind of surprise. Until a thought crossed your mind and your grin quickly melted into a frown. 

 “I told you to leave!” you growled, surveying your surroundings for a new exit to shove him through. It suddenly hit you just how far you had traveled in the midst of your artificial trance. Grey bodies lay scattered from the bench where it began to the train schedule board in the middle of the atrium to the benches on the other side. The trail continued down the steps to the ticket counters, up the staircase to the suspended walkway and ended at the alcove where you now stood. A grotesque kind of bread crumb trail leading to a murderous witch instead of home. 

 You shook the thought away. Now was so not the time for a breakdown! More grey zombies continued to march through the three portals flickering on the ground level. A question flitted through your head and another quick glance around the train station lead to the shocking discovery of only two human bodies lying amid the carnage. Refusing to give the red-splattered corner another thought, you turned back to Loki. His cheeks, which before had been flushed with victory, were red with anger. His mouth was turned down in a scowl and was opening to give what you were sure was going to be a scathing retort. You cut him off before he could begin. 

 “It doesn’t matter now. We can discuss your reckless disregard for your safety later. Right now we need to get those portals closed. Any ideas?” 

 Loki snapped his mouth shut and glowered at you before giving the portals a searching look. You could see a plan forming in his eyes in moments. 

 “Consider it done,” he declared before turning his back on you and vaulting over the safety rails. You gasped and darted forward, mentally cursing him for the heart attack when you caught sight of him sneaking along the walls. Glancing where he seemed to be headed, you mentally tabbed the portal nearest the ticket counters before searching for a safer way down. An alcove to your left held a staircase going down. Apparently it was the same one you took to get up to the walkway because almost every step painted a picture of carnage. Limbs without bodies and bodies without limbs made the trip down an obstacle course of death. Today’s trip was probably going to get a whole month to itself to plague your dreams. The price of a “heroic” lifestyle. 

 You cleared the last three steps with a leap and somehow managed to catch your foot on the stomach of the exact body you had been aiming to avoid. One graceless landing later, you were peeking around the corner of the alcove the staircase ended in. However, before you could spot  Loki, a wave of dizziness had you gripping the wall to keep yourself upright. A single warning - “Blood Loss Levels Approaching Critical” - appeared from your optobionics. Finally taking a moment to look down at yourself, the reason for the warning was immediately apparent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you are a Shakespeare nerd (Shakespeare in the park anyone?). Or at least for Macbeth.  
> Macbeth quotes:   
> Yours- Act 5, Scene 5, Lines 23-28 (Lines 19-20 were included in Lin-Manuel Miranda's "Hamilton" in the song "Take A Break")  
> Loki's (which reminded me of him the moment I saw it) - Act 1, Scene 5, lines 56-58


	16. Chapter 16

 Blood pulsed from at least a dozen scratches of varying depths along your arms and legs. Blood spotted your shirt and pants and seeped into your socks and shoes. Blood welled up along your wrists and palms. Luckily, nothing looked too serious. There were no major arteries nicked or bones broken and jutting from your skin. Yet the combined efforts of the lacerations were more than your body could handle at once, super enhancements included. Not for the first time, you wished you had Wolverine’s super healing for a mutation. 

 Taking a deep breath, you looked around and located the portal you knew Loki was heading towards. You chose the column located five yards to the left of the portal as your target. Stretching out your hands, you visualized gripping the tiled floor behind the column. Then, you  _ pulled _ , stepping forward at the same time. The column you had been aiming for was now two inches in front of your nose. You took a small step back and peeked around the column, trying to get a visual on Loki. 

 Groups of zombies gathered here and there around the station. They looked to be searching for something, tossing over kiosks and breaking into closets. They seemed to be content to stay in the station for the moment, but you knew that could change in a heartbeat. The flash of green on the outskirts of your vision was becoming almost too familiar. 

 Loki was darting between the wreckage of overturned kiosks and forgotten luggage. His projected path would place him close behind the portal. However, it would also take him dangerously close to the thickest clusters of aliens. You realized that, if this were a movie, Loki would be hinting something along the lines of “Now would be a good time for a distraction!” Searching around, you picked a hefty-looking suitcase standing near the largest group of aliens. Mentally gripping it, you  _ pulled  _ and released. The suitcase flew along the group towards your hiding place, taking out the legs of a few zombies as it went. 

 You covered your mouth to hide a snicker as multiple zombies stabbed at and shot the suitcase. Selecting a tote bag sitting straight in front of your column, you  _ pulled  _ and let go. You then repeated the action with a textbook and a travel pillow. This lead the zombies on a wild goose chase away from the portal, leaving Loki free to work his magic. You had to admit, seeing zombies chase the flying objects like dogs after a ball was funny. What was even funnier was when they stabbed and shot the offending object within an inch of its nonexistent life.  

 Distracted by the scene, you missed whatever Loki was doing to the portal. The results, however, would have been impossible to miss unless you were more than a mile away. It started with a low whirring sound that quickly grew to the volume of a shrieking wind. All three of the portals began to whirl like pinwheels. Growing to the size of tour buses, they exploded with a sound similar to that of a screaming panther. The explosion knocked you, Loki, the zombie aliens and half of the station’s columns to the floor. The sound of the explosion plus the sounds of collapsing granite left your ears ringing. 

 Groaning and rubbing your ears, a  _ thump!  _ next to your head made you look up as chunks of pillar began to rain down. You hauled butt and ducked out from under the collapsing balcony. Squinting through the dust, you yelled “Loki!” Searching for signs of movement, you made your way towards where you had last seen him. Stopping next to a pile of rubble, you looked around. 

 “Loki?” 

 Swiveling your head, you turned up your audio receptors. The volume of the ringing in your ears grew as well, making you wince, before fading. The sounds of pebbles settling, ceiling supports groaning and the foundation shivering became clearer. Yet even with the added sensitivity, the only breathing you could hear was your own. Doing your best to ignore the growing feeling of panic, you searched around the site of the portal. Finding nothing, you refused to give up hope and expanded your search. 

 You vaulted over a granite chunk and stumbled over the body of an alien zombie. Flinching violently, you grabbed the closest weapon - a fist sized rock - and froze. When the body didn’t move, you slowly advanced to investigate. You unconsciously began to hold your breath as the distance between you and it decreased. This zombie still had all of its appendages, head and organs, meaning neither Loki nor you had ended its life. There were no signs of blunt force trauma from falling debris. So why was it playing dead? 

 Figuring that the only safe zombie was a truly dead zombie, you picked up its gun and made sure. Moving on, you did the same with the seven other prone zombies you came across. It was in the middle of examining a large pile of mixed debris that a promising noise reached your ears. Straightening, you held your breath and listened. Hope swelled in your chest as the noise seemed to be moving closer. The noise grew until it became the unmistakable sound of a police siren. Multiple police sirens, in fact. 

 Hope shattered, instinct moved you into a crouch behind a pile of debris.  _ Now what?  _ The first plan to come to mind was to act as hysterical as possible and pas as an innocent bystander.  _ They were ALIENS, I tell you! They were EVERYWHERE and I was so SCARED!  _ But the police would want an official report and that would require personal information, such as your name and home address. Not an option. Look for a back door and sneak away? The police were no doubt setting up a perimeter at that moment. You could only sneak so well in broad daylight, drenched in blood and alien gore, and dragging six feet of Asgardian kingliness. Speaking of which,  _ where was Loki?  _

 Frantic now, you moved through the debris at a faster pace, calling Loki’s name in a low tone. You could hear the heartbeats of multiple people - most likely police - closing in on the building. Your head was telling you to give up and get out of there, but your heart argued for checking  _ just one more pile _ . And then one more. And looking behind one more teetering column.  _ Maybe he got sucked into the portal when it closed? _ your head reasoned. Finally, you made the decision to end your search. Your best bet for a clean getaway was probably the rooftops at this point. Turning to head towards the stairs, you paused. The sound that caught your attention was so faint, you almost passed it off as your imagination. No - there it was again! A heart beating closer and much slower than the thrum of the gathering crowd outside. 


	17. Chapter 17

 Turning slowly, you tried to pinpoint the location of the sound. It was like playing "Marco Polo" in a maze. Your ears lead you to a pile of column chunks three times as tall as you. You begin digging, thrilled as the sound becomes clearer. You unearth a tipped over bench, legs reaching for the cracked ceiling. You figure it must have been thrown here when the portal exploded. And then you see it, peeking out from behind a corner of the bench. Green and gold. 

 “Loki?” 

 A low groan emanated from beneath the bench. Grinning wide enough to crack a few of the scabbed cuts of your face, you reach for the bench. A few tugs later, you realize this bench is well and truly stuck. Even if you could move it, the loss of support would bring the whole pile tumbling down on top of you and Loki. Time for a new plan. 

 “Loki? If you are conscious, give me a list of things that hurt.” 

 Rustling noises reach your ears, then stop before you can caution Loki to not try moving the bench. He began to speak and at that moment, Loki’s weary voice sounded like a clear, country sunrise. 

 “Being hit by Mjolnir, falling through space, fake dying. Being thrown about by that green monstrosity. Actually, that last one pales in comparison to the rest. ” 

 “Glad to see your sarcasm wasn’t dulled by a little tussle,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Now how about a list of your injuries?” 

 “Oh, can’t complain. A few bumps and bruises, along with this good-sized metal pole I’ll be able to carry about as a souvenir, seeing as it has impaled my stomach.” 

 “Holy crap! Loki, why didn’t you mention that first?!” Your examination of the structure of the pile was given renewed vigor. “Whatever you do, do NOT pull out that pole! You need to start applying pressure-” 

 “Wait, I was mistaken.” Loki’s voice came again, cutting off your instructions. “It was simply a splinter. All is well.” 

 You didn’t move as your brain processed what Loki had just said. A splinter? Was he comparing a “good-sized metal pole” with a  _ splinter?  _ Wait… Or had he been exaggerating and there was no metal pole? Your poor nerves. 

 “Loki?” you asked in a quiet, calm tone. 

 “Yes, Winter?” came the quiet reply. Your tone must have betrayed your emotions because he sounded almost scared. 

 “Is there really a metal pole?” 

 “Ah… No.” 

 “Glad to hear it. Now, I have something to tell you and I want you to know I mean this is the nicest way possible. Are you listening?” you continued in your calm voice. 

 “Not like I have anything else to do,” came the muttered reply. 

 “Good. I want you to know that you better hope the police find us before I get you out because I am going to pull you apart one limb at a time in the most excruciating ways I know how.” 

 Silence reigned for a long moment. You heard more shuffling. A chunk of rock the size of a door that leaned against one end of the bench began to shake as it was pushed against. 

 “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. That rock is holding up a good portion of the debris. Move that and it all comes tumbling down,” you cautioned in a bland voice. The shaking stopped.  

 “Would now be a bad time to mention that I would very much like to avoid being recognized by any police?” Loki asked cautiously. 

 “Now is definitely a bad time to ask me for any favors.” You laid a hand on one of the larger chunks of granite and wondered how much strength it would take to pull the pile away from the bench. The answer: too much. Your pushes and pulls worked on an “every action has an equal and opposite reaction” basis. If you pulled something that weighed less than you, it would come to you. Pull something that weighed more than you and you would go to it. The pile as a whole was too much, but the bench… 

 “I have a plan to get you out.” You stepped to the side of a column base opposite the pile and planted your feet on either side. With your luck, the base was already fracturing and your pull would break it, sending you flying into the pile. Then again, it was about time some god (looking at you, Odin or Thor or someone on Asgard) smiled on you. 

 “After your earlier threat, I am not sure I want to get out.” Loki huffed. You rolled your eyes. 

 “Whatever, you big baby. Grab onto the bench with both hands, find somewhere to brace your feet and hold on tight.” Gritting your teeth, you mentally grabbed ahold of the bench’s dented arms. Pale fingers wrapped around the wooden slats and boots peeked through further down, dislodging small puffs of stone dust. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to leave a kudo. See something that needs editing? Leave a comment.  
> See you next chapter!


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